


In Vino Veritas

by murderofporgs



Series: Flammable Materials [3]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone gets hugs, Gen, Panic Attacks, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Post-TLJ, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Doubt, little bit of pining, no porgs get eaten, poe dameron gets a hug, poe dameron's hair, seriously there are so many hugs, x-wing pilots are crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderofporgs/pseuds/murderofporgs
Summary: “General, permission to get Commander Dameron drunk and make him talk about his feelings?”In which X-wing pilots have their own ideas of therapy, Poe Dameron is not the least jealous that Finn is making new friends all over the place, and no-one is eating any porgs.It's less lighthearted than it sounds.





	In Vino Veritas

It’s not unusual for Poe to hug people coming back from risky missions, but right now he’s clinging to Jess in a grip hard enough to be almost painful, and his breath is uneven and hitching in her ear, bordering on sobs. She knows her Poe hugs and this is the kind of Poe hug that spells all kinds of terrible things.

 

She breaks it off, holds him at arm’s length and just takes him in. Deep dark bags under his eyes, ashen-faced under his ever-present tan, trembling like he’s coming off a week’s worth of stims. Oh, boy, this is bad.   

 

Jess glances back to where Snap is climbing out of his own X-wing. Connix is there to greet him, apparently with good news, because he’s grinning like an idiot and wrapping her in a hug of his own, only lets her go when she taps his shoulder in a signal that she can’t breathe.

 

It’s taken most part of the day to navigate between the mountains of this obscure Outer Rim world to find the long-abandoned old Rebel base. Now that they’re finally on the ground, Jess can see that the landscape is gorgeous in its severity. This is a temporary measure, she knows. It’s too remote to make for a viable base, and there isn’t space for any larger crafts inside the cavern that doubles as a hangar.

 

“So, where do we park?” Jess asks. “You hid the rest of the ships, right?” It makes sense. The only ship still visible on the ground is the _Millennium Falcon_ (for real, _THE Millennium Falcon,_ and Jess is going to need to have a proper freak-out about that later.)

 

“The rest of….” Poe pauses, swallows like he’s trying to stomach something awful, and goes on, gesturing to the _Falcon_ and the handful of people strewn about around her. “Testor, this is _it_. This is all that’s left.”

 

Jess listens to the words. Turns them over in her head, does her best to make them register. _This is all that’s left._

 

It’s… too much to deal with. Communications have been sparse at best, no-one wants to risk the First Order intercepting any messages, so the only information until now has been that the Resistance suffered heavy losses during the D’qar evacuation. It’s only pure luck that Jess and Snap even found their way here, mostly due to the fact that Snap still remembers codes and frequencies dating all the way back to the Rebellion.

 

“Who else made it?” Jess asks and the question feels all wrong in her mouth. Usually you list the people who _didn’t_ make it. You throw a wake, you drink and mourn and remember them, you deal with it. This is… this so much worse than Jess can get a handle on right now.

 

“Nien is here, C’ai too.” Poe turns, as Snap comes jogging up to them. “We got word from Karé yesterday, she’s okay and on her way back.”

 

“Yeah, Connix just told me. Hey Poe, you look like you came out the wrong end of a bantha.”

 

Poe blinks, wild-eyed and twitchy. “Is there a _right_ end? Still prettier than you, old man.”

 

Snap gets a hug too, and Jess watches the way Poe hangs onto him like he might go up in smoke, eyes squeezed shut, still with those weird hitches in his breathing. Poe’s eyes are suspiciously shiny when he finally lets go, like he’s struggling to fight back tears.

 

“What happened?” Jess asks. She’s not sure she even wants to know.

 

Poe tells them, slowly and haltingly, and Jess wishes she’d never asked. The entire bomber fleet gone. The _Raddus_ and the support ships gone. Most of the Resistance command gone. Luke Skywalker gone and that is the hardest thing to hear, because Skywalker was supposed to _save_ them. Jess does her best to keep breathing, knows this is going to be devastating when it finally hits and this is her just _hearing_ about it. Poe _lived_ it, experienced it in all it’s fucked-up glory, and it’s clearly tearing him to pieces.

 

She throws her arms around his neck when he’s done, squeezing tight, and she finally gets how desperately he hugged them before. “Oh, Dameron,” she whispers in his ear. “We are going to get you _so_ drunk.”

 

All the time she’s flown with Poe, he’s never been able to open his mouth and tell a friend ‘I feel like shit and I would like a shoulder to cry on, please.’ Which means that occasionally you just have to be sneaky. Black Squadron used to have a whole secret protocol for it.

 

He snorts against her shoulder, a tiny laugh that’s only just on the right side of hysterical. “Yeah, that’d actually be nice,” he says, and the effort he needs to disentangle from her embrace is heartbreaking. “Once we’ve got all the check-ins over with, maybe…”

 

He stutters, stops, clearly realizing that they’re not alone anymore. General Organa is striding across the airstrip, looking strangely small and fragile (Jess has never seen her look _fragile_ before) supported by a cane. As she reaches their little gathering, Jess finally realizes exactly how completely screwed they are, because Poe might hug people coming back from risky missions, but the General doesn’t. And right here and now, Jess finds herself wrapped in General Organa’s arms, held close. A moment later, the general is embracing Snap too, and he’s surprised enough that he’s giving both Jess and Poe wide shocked eyes over her shoulder.

 

“It’s so very good to see you two both alive,” General Organa says, once she’s let Snap go. “Please tell me you have good news.”

 

They don’t, unfortunately. Snap’s the ranking officer so he’s the one who has to make the report. The Hosnian system is reduced to space rocks, the fleet is in shambles, the senators who were absent at the time of the Starkiller attack are too terrified to declare any alliances. The Republic is broken and when the First Order moves in to take control, there will be little to no resistance.    

 

All the Resistance that remains is right here, only a handful of people.

“We haven’t heard back from Arana yet, or the Corellian fleet,” Poe says, consulting his datapad. “And the Outer Rim worlds… there are a lot of allies we haven’t got word from. It’s not all lost, we still have a chance.”

 

Jess can tell that he’s finding it very difficult to put any real trust his own words. Poe Dameron, the number one believer of the Cause, the de facto poster boy for the Resistance, is losing faith. Well, this won’t do. Jess gathers all the resolve she’s gained from a lifetime of being an obnoxious shithead and turns to General Organa.

 

“General, permission to get Commander Dameron drunk and make him talk about his feelings?”

 

The General’s mouth quirks into something approaching a smile. “Permission granted. See if you can get him to sleep for a couple of hours while you’re at it.” She turns to Poe. “Take the rest of the day and tomorrow. I’ll handle this.” The General holds a hand out, clearly expecting Poe’s datapad to be transferred to her grip.

 

Poe though, he’s clutching the device like it’s all that’s keeping him upright. “General. Leia. I’m not.. I can still...”

 

General Organa reaches out and plucks the datapad out of his hand. “Poe. This isn’t a punishment. I’m relieving you because having you in charge of anything in the state you are right now is cruel to both you and whoever you’re in charge of. Go, get some rest, and come back when you’re not delirious with exhaustion.” She turns to Jess. “Lieutenant Pava, I’m making that an order, effective immediately.”’

 

Jess grins, makes a sloppy salute, and grabs Poe’s elbow to drag him away.

 

* * *

 

Of course it isn’t immediately, because Jess and Snap have barely left their cockpits for days and need things like actual food and freshers and any scrap of clothing that isn’t a flight suit, but as the sun is setting over the mountains, the three of them are sprawled out in the lounge of the _Millennium Falcon_ (the actual _Millennium Falcon_ and Jess is still hyperventilating a little bit at the thought of it) passing around a bottle of something suspiciously blue that tastes like X-wing fuel. There were glasses at some point, but they have long since been discarded for the sake of efficiency. The ship is curiously empty for the moment, and Jess suspects the General had something to do with it. Empty, that is, except for the creatures that seem to have taken up permanent residence.  

 

“What,” Jess asks, taking in the fat feathery _thing_ waddling around on the deck. “Is _that_?” She’s seen a shitload of the critters around the _Falcon_ , nesting in corners, getting into the machinery.

 

“Hmm?” Poe lifts his head off the cushion. He lost the battle with gravity a little while ago, sliding sideways to lie prone on the curved bench by the dejarik table. “Oh. Porg. Rey and Chewie brought them from Ahch-To.”

 

“Bless you.”

 

“Screw you, Pava. Anyway, they’re cute and all but they’re kriffing _everywhere_. Chewie likes ‘em so apparently they’re staying.”

 

Snap chuckles. “Likes ‘em for what, dinner?”

 

Poe gets up on one elbow, a little unsteadily, and waves his finger. “Nononono, we do _not_ talk about eating porgs.” He’s already slurring his words a little. Normally Jess would give him shit for being a lightweight, but a quick chat with Connix revealed that he’s only been eating when someone forcefully puts a ration pack in his hands and _makes_ him, and no-one really knows how long it’s been since he got more than four consecutive hours of sleep (the scariest bet says it was before he left for Jakku).

 

“No eating porgs, check,” Jess says, pushing and pulling at him until he’s got her thigh for a pillow instead and his hair is in handy petting proximity. She _likes_ Poe’s hair. It’s curly and glossy and soft, but he only ever lets people touch it when he’s drunk. It’s like this shiny prize that is sometimes bestowed on the common people. Come to think of it, it’s entirely possible that Jess might be a bit drunk herself.

 

“Good.” Poe settles down, blinking up at her. “Hi. I’m really glad you guys aren’t dead. Everyone else probably are.” He’s clearly arrived at the stage where he’s losing his brain-to-mouth-filter, which was the intended outcome of the evening, so at least that’s a win.

 

“We’re glad you’re not dead too,” Snap says, closing his hand around Poe’s ankle and giving it an affectionate shake, because it’s the only part of Poe he can reach and he declared loudly the moment he finally got to sit down that he wasn’t going to move from that spot for the rest of his life. “And there’s got to be others, all right?”

 

“Besides, we’ve got the last _Jedi_ .” Jess met Rey at dinner and while she’s no Skywalker, the steely determination in that woman’s eyes made Jess think that maybe that’s a _good_ thing. Maybe what the Resistance needs the most right now aren’t heroes and legends, but simply people who refuse to lie down and give up. “And we’ve got your Stormtrooper, where is he anyway? I wanted to invite him but I couldn’t find him anywhere when I got back from the fresher. Was he wearing your _clothes_ earlier? Don’t tell me you already hit that, you dog?”  

 

Poe goes very red, something else he only does when he’s drunk. Really, it’s endearing. If Jess swung that way, or if _Poe_ did for that matter, she would’ve been all over him ages ago. “I _gave_ them to him,” Poe says. “Seriously Jess, my sorry cast-offs are literally the only things he owns, don’t you dare give him shit over it.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, he’s too cute.” Jess teases, and expects him to retort with something clever, but instead he only looks tired and, well, older than she’s ever seen him, which is… Poe’s got a couple of years on her, but it’s not like he’s ancient. Nevertheless, now that Jess has got the chance for a closer look, she’s finding grey hairs among the black. That doesn’t seem right.

 

“Finn’s… with his friends, probably,” Poe mumbles, hugging the bottle to his chest with a forlorn expression. There’s not a whole lot left in it by now. “He’s making friends with everyone. And that’s good, he should have friends. He should have _all_ the friends. ‘Least I still got BB-8.”

 

“Are you jealous, Dameron?” Jess asks, at the same time as Snap says, “Are you saying that your only friend is a droid? You realize that is sad.”

 

Snap is the only one halfway sober by now, mostly because he claims that Karé will kill him is he’s too hungover to get it up when she gets here tomorrow.

 

“Says you.” Poe mutters, raising his head from Jess’ leg to take another swig from the bottle, not even wincing at the taste. “At least _my_ droid is adorable.” The argument of BB-8 vs. Mister Bones has been an ongoing one for as long as Poe and Snap have known each other.

 

“Your droid is a menace,” Snap states, not entirely without cause.

 

“I’ll have you know my droid saved Finn and Rose’s lives.”

 

Jess sits up straighter, making grabby hands for the bottle. Poe hands it to her and she swallows another mouthful. She’s going to hate herself tomorrow. “Yes about that. _Rose?_ Paige would’ve had you balls, what were you thinking letting her go off like that? That’s Paige’s little _sister_ , she’s barely out of _school_. Poe, what the hell?”

 

It’s not entirely fair. By all accounts, Rose Tico is an adult by now, but she’s never been in active combat before and Jess still remembers her trailing after Paige like an adorable little puppy, running errands and worshiping her heroes among the pilots.

 

Poe makes a motion to sit up, makes it far enough to get his hands under him, but the attempt ends in an uncoordinated flail and he falls right off the bench instead, landing in a heap on the floor under the table. Jess peers down at him over the edge. “You okay there, Dameron?” If he needs help to get up, she could probably give it to him, but the room is spinning a little and she really doesn’t want to move more than she absolutely has to.

 

He grunts, rolls over, and manages to get halfway upright, sitting supported by the bench with his head leaning back against the seat cushions. His eyes are unfocused and rimmed with red as he looks up at Jess.

 

“It was… damnit… back on the _Finalizer_. Ren he… you know.” Poe makes a gesture that was probably supposed to look all ominous, but mostly consists of him flopping his hand around in front of his own face.

 

“I couldn’t… he _took_ it, Jess. I couldn’t control it, and he went into my head and there was nothing I could do and after Finn, after we… as long as I kept moving everything was fine. But Leia and Holdo wanted me to sit around and do nothing all over again and I guess I… I couldn’t… I had to...” He closes his eyes and swallows hard. “I had to do something. I had to do _something_. Holdo wouldn’t tell me anything and Finn and Rose came to me with a plan and I…” Poe stops abruptly, trying to get his breathing under control.

 

And Jess _gets_ it. When it comes to control issues, she’s the kriffing _expert_. For her, it manifests mostly as an obsession with knowing every last nut and bolt in every ship she pilots, and she will never ever again let anyone put her in a position she can’t get herself out of.

 

For Poe, it’s different. He’s one of those people who doesn’t know how to stop. He throws himself headfirst into every challenge that comes his way, pours everything he has into the things he believes in, always looking towards the next mission, the next fight. Poe cannot stand the thought of being left out, even under the best of circumstances. And thanks to this kriffing war, they got him back from being tortured, crash landed and injured, only to send him right back out again, expecting him to make rational decisions. Jess is pretty sure _she_ couldn’t have held it together enough to think even halfway straight in his place.

 

Snap’s big hand comes to rest on the back of Poe’s neck, helping him lean forwards to rest his forehead on drawn up knees. “Breathe,” Snap says, in that deep steady voice of his. “Take one big breath and hold it. Count to three. Now let it out.”

 

Poe complies and just sits there for a while, shoulders heaving with the effort of keeping what looks like a pretty impressive panic attack at bay. Jess knows about those as well. All she can do is put an additional hand on his shoulder, offering silent support. When Poe is finally able to raise his head again, he has to wipe wetness from his eyes.

 

“So,” he mutters. “Yeah. That’s been happening. Want to hear more about all the ways I’ve screwed up in the past few days?”

 

Snap shrugs, unimpressed as always by self-pity. “I don’t know. I’m thinking that statistically, it was beyond time for one of the famously insane Poe Dameron plans to fail.”

 

“Screw you, Wexley, it wasn’t even _my_ plan. _I_ wanted to blow up the _Supremacy_.”

 

Snap buries his face in his hands and lets out a groan of pure despair. “With _what_?” he whines.

 

“I don’t _know_ , I would’ve figured it out, I could’ve...”

 

“You could’ve _died_ ,” Jess hears herself say, and her eyes are burning and she’s sliding off her seat and crawling over to where Poe is slumped on the floor so she can throw her arms around him and hold on. “You don’t get to do that anymore, Dameron, you don’t get to do that suicidal _shit_ anymore, not when there are so few of us left.”

 

Poe’s hand comes up to pat weakly at her shoulder. “I’m not, I swear I’m not. Not letting you do it either.” When Jess meets his eyes, he’s blinking furiously. “I’m sorry,” he says, another hitching breath that’s too close to a sob. “I’m so sorry, I brought you all with me on those missions, expecting you to just trust me, to follow me, I never deserved…”

 

“I really don’t need to hear you finish that sentence,” Snap says, and Jess, who has had a lot more to drink and as a result is a lot more sentimental right now says, “We would’ve followed you _anywhere_. L’ulo, Ello, Tallie, Paige, everyone at Starkiller, everyone at D’qar, everyone at Crait. We follow you by _choice_ , Poe, no matter the cost.”

 

That’s when the tears start running down Poe’s cheeks for real, and Jess is not far behind. Snap digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and says, “ _Damnit_ ,” with a lot of feeling, and when he looks up, he’s looking pretty damp as well.

 

They’ve lost so much, lost so many friends. Jess spent a big part of her life putting her faith in Luke Skywalker. Now, Luke Skywalker is gone, but there are still things left to put her faith on. The steely-eyed stubborn woman she met at dinner. The young man, whose only possessions right now consist of Poe Dameron’s donated clothes and whose smile is still bright and blinding and _hopeful_. The young woman who stepped up to wear the cloak of her older sister’s desperate bravery. General Leia Organa, who endured the cold vacuum of space and lived to tell the tale. These two men in front of her, one trying his best to conceal his tears, the other one crying unabashedly. Everyone who are still scattered, but finding their way back in this very moment.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Jess says between the wet sniffs, patting Poe’s cheek a little sloppily. “Last Jedi, remember? And if you could get _one_ Stormtrooper to defect, there has to be more of them, right? And we’ve got Black Squadron right _here_ , with Kun on her way, that’s gotta count for something.”

 

“I don’ even have a _ship_ right now,” Poe says, but it’s a weak protest.

 

“So we’ll get you a kriffing ship, I’ll build you one myself out of spare parts, you know I can do it.”

 

Poe blinks at her. “Okay, now I’m scared.”

 

“Let’s drink to it,” Jess decides. The bottle with the last few dregs of blue liquid is lying on it’s side on the bench, left forgotten. It doesn’t seem to have spilled much though and she reaches out an arm to rescue it. She’s drunk enough by now that she doesn’t even feel what it tastes like. “To the Resistance!” she exclaims. ‘Resistance’ is a very difficult word to pronounce right now.

 

“Resistance,” Poe echoes, swallowing his own share. To Jess’ great satisfaction, he’s having even more trouble with it.

 

“To the Resistance,” Snap says when it’s his turn, finishing off the bottle. “To lost friends. Let’s go set some shit on fire.”

 

“Got to be a spark,” Poe slurs, barely conscious now, his eyelids drooping. “An’ I’ve no idea how to be one…”

 

Then he’s out, slack-jawed and limp, dead to the world. Jess pats his face, because it's a very pretty face and it deserves to be patted. “You already are,” she tells him and settles in to make herself comfortable against his side, one arm draped around his middle.

 

Things go quiet for a while. Jess lies there, listening to Poe’s heartbeats, the sound of his breathing. She could fall asleep here, easily. She clearly shouldn’t have thought that, because a moment later, Snap is leaning over to shake her awake from the soft warm place she’s been drifting in.

 

“Testor, come on. Let’s haul him off to bed.”

 

“‘M comfy here,” she mumbles into Poe’s shoulder.

 

“No, I’m serious, I’m too old to sleep on the floor. _Jess_.”

 

“Suck it up, Wexley.”

 

“You’ll owe me a backrub.”

 

“Take it up with your wife.”

 

Snap lets out a very impressive groan as he rises from his seat and gets down to the floor to sit next to them. He pulls an unresisting Poe in to rest against his broad chest and since Jess is lying on Poe, she just kind of follows until they’re a whole big pile of drunken pilots.

 

“I hate you both,” Snap growls, trying to get comfortable against the front of the couch.

 

“No you don’t,” Jess mumbles, just as she’s about to fall asleep.

 

Snap’s quiet admission of “No, I don’t,” is the last thing she hears. The last sensation before she drops off is of a porg cozying up behind her knee. She decides to let it.

 

\- fin -

  


**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people hated the movie. If you're one of them, please post the nasty comments somewhere else, I'm just trying to fit my headcanon into canon here. My headcanon for the moment is that TLJ was basically just a whole big PTSD-event for Poe.
> 
> Also, I'm not a Star Wars expert. Everything in this fic you might recognize is either from the movies or from the Poe Dameron comics. Everything else, I pulled out of my ass.


End file.
